


What A Joke

by HydraNoMago



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, Comfort, Day 7, Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Blood, Oneshot, Recuperation, Reunion, Self-Harm, Suffering, Writing Prompt, ffxv week, modern day AU, the prince and the pauper - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7426801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HydraNoMago/pseuds/HydraNoMago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He watches silently as the red liquid drops steadily from his wrists to the white of the porcelain tub. The dense droplets are instantly mixed in with the clear water as it slides down the edges, staining it with a light dye. He turns his head to look at himself in the mirror, sees his own face as pale as death staring back at him. </p><p>He bites on his lip hard enough so that it too, bleeds. They don't know a thing, but they always judge him harshly, just to suit their own needs. Everyone needs someone to bully once in a while, someone has to be a victim so that others may be spared. </p><p>What did he do wrong? He must have done something wrong hadn't he? If not, then why would others hate him so?"</p><p>AU where Prompto has self-harm issues and Noctis comforts him. (Slight angst, lots of fluff and comfort afterwards. Nocto/Promptis)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What A Joke

**Author's Note:**

> Written for # ffxv week 
> 
> Day 7 (writing prompt) : [Free]
> 
> I believe I have been bullying Prompto a lot. But he is such a deep character on the inside that it makes me want to write so much more about him.  
> So please have a self-inflicted harm Prompto and some comforting Noctis. 
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

* * *

 

 

He watches silently as the red liquid drops steadily from his wrists to the white of the porcelain tub. The dense droplets are instantly mixed in with the clear water as it slides down the edges, staining it with a light dye. He turns his head to look at himself in the mirror, sees his own face as pale as death staring back at him. Weakly, he tries to lift a hand to his cheek, watching intently as he traces the hollow bones, the red still flowing down from his wrists, moving along his inner arm.

 

His eyes are dead, the blue in them fading to a cloudy hue. He places his hand back into the water, tosses his head back on the edge of the tub. How nice would it be, for him to pass on to the other world right now. After all, who would love someone like him? A worthless human being, un-burnable trash.

 

 _Prompto_ , they'd say. _Eh? He's always such an attention seeker, it makes me sick._

 

_Haha, true that. And for gods sakes he's a total slut when it comes to cock._

 

_Did you see him giving that blow job to the football team's senior the other day? Fucking disgusting._

 

He bites on his lip hard enough so that it too, bleeds. They don't know a thing, but they always judge him harshly, just to suit their own needs. Everyone needs someone to bully once in a while, someone has to be a victim so that others may be spared.

 

_Fuck off blondie. You're in my seat._

 

_Huh? Join us? Pfft, no thanks. Go play with your other fags or something._

 

_Hey slut, lemme come in your hole tonight... Oh, but remember to clench it tightly okay? I don't like loose holes._

 

They were the ones who were disgusting. Not him. But didn't he passively egg them on? He hadn't exactly been overly vocal about all this, mainly because he didn't want anyone else to figure it out. So he goes home early, he sits in the tub and his nightly hobby is to add the number of scars to his thighs. Because everyone sees cut wrists and they think something is wrong with you, send you to a counsellor, send you to an asylum. But no one checks your thighs. Even if they did see them, they don't think too much about it, the simpletons.

 

He closes his eyes, tries to pace his shallow breathing. He sinks further down the tub until the water reaches his chin, the cold of the water seeping into his skin. He probably would get frostbite at this point, but he could care less.

 

What did he do wrong? He must have done something wrong hadn't he? If not, then why would others hate him so? They refused to sit with him, to even look at him. They scrawled nasty messages with spray paint on his lockers, they sent the bigger ones after him to punch him into the ground and fuck him afterwards. He used to cry about all this, but one day the tears stopped, mainly because he knew how much he cried, it would change nothing. Instead, they would use it against him, do more things to him.

 

Yes, he was a loud and extroverted. Yes, he was gay. Yes, he was a bit hardworking when it came to his classes. So what? Did all of this give them a reason to make his life hell? Was it because of all this that it was acceptable to burn his books in front of him, toss his gym clothes into the dumpster, hang him from the roof of the school by his ankles until he begged them to stop?

 

Their obnoxious laughter rings in his ears nonstop, like angry bees. Recently, he hears their sentences thrown at him in an amplified frequency. It disturbs him, no matter how tightly he closes his ears he can still hear them. Those bastards. Laughing and laughing and laughing. Always laughing at him.

 

And he just wants them to _shut up, shut up, shut up_ so badly. He wants the peace in his life. He wants to get out of here. He needs to, if not he'll lose his own sanity first.

 

The reflection projected in the mirror is pathetic, suitable for someone of his caliber. He hangs and arm over his head, feels the heat of his own blood soak into his golden locks. He was starting to feel dizzy, perhaps this is when he can finally leave this wretched world. It was perfect, he had no family, no friends to speak of, not even a pet. No one will have to feel sad for him. Maybe they'll find his body a few weeks later when the smell of rotting flesh has finally reached the neighbour. By then, he shall be gone from this hell.

 

 _Bzz... bzz..._ He clicks his tongue. _Ugh, what now?_ He can't help but smile a little at the irony of his phone buzzing when he was at death's door. It was stupid in a sense. He shifts his tired gaze to the silver phone on the lid of the toilet bowl, tilting closer and closer to the edge with every buzz. Should he pick it up? It may be a salesman trying to sell him some shit again, they always had uncanny timing for the worst moments. Should he not pick it up? After all, asking the other person on the line to politely fuck off he was trying to die here seemed an amusing idea.

 

He puffs out a breath of air, lifting one of his golden locks. To pick up or not to pick up, that is the question.

 

At last, he slides over to the other end of the tub slowly, picking up his phone. Unknown caller. He clicks on the green button. “What the fuck do you want?” Even to his own ears, his voice is raspy, weak and broken.

 

“...” A silent line.

 

“Hello?” Prompto tried again. “Whoever the hell this is, if you're not going to answer then good bye and good fucking riddance.”

 

“Wait!” The voice on the other end makes him pause, makes his eyes grow wide, heart beat faster. His mind is whirring with possibilities and contradictions. “Prompto?..” The voice is tentative, but he knows exactly who it belongs to, even though his has changed so much over the years.

 

He swallows, his throat tight and dry. Tries to hear past the sudden pounding rush of blood in his ears. _Oh god what if it isn't him? What if I'm just hallucinating and it's another guy on the line?_ Yet his stubborn lips move of their own accord, forming a name he thought he would not utter again. “Noctis?...”

 

A sigh of relief. “Yeah,... yeah it's me Prom.” What a familiar sounding nickname, it warms his chest to hear it again, brings bouts of nostalgia. “Hey, you okay? You don't sound too good.”

 

And he gapes like a fish out of water because this situation is utterly idiotic. Here he was trying to kill himself, then the gods miraculously send him his friend whom he hasn't seen in _years_ just to fucking taunt him. “What do you want?” Another broken sound. He doesn't want to see him, if he did then all of this would be for naught. “Noct, what do you want?”

 

Noctis seemed taken aback by this blunt question, for he was silent a while. Prompto wished he would take the hint and cut off the call, maybe with a ' _That's fine, I'll call you back later._ ' Only there was no later, but Noct didn't need to know that. “Prom. Prom, what's wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” he immediately replies. He is scared to elaborate, just the sound of worry colouring the other's voice has threatened the dams to break. “Nothing,” he repeats.

 

A click of a tongue on the other end, surely he is irritated. “Don't give me that, Prom. You're always trying to hide things from me.” He pauses. “Well if it's really nothing then let me in. I've been stuck outside your door for ten minutes now and the weather is freezing.”

 

Prompto's heart does backflips, somersaults and cartwheels; partly due to the fact that he didn't know whether to be pissed off, nervous or happy. How could he? How could he be right outside his door, today of all days, this moment of all moments? How?!

 

“Prom? Prom you still there?”

 

He weakly makes a 'hmm' noise at the back of his throat. His brain was already lacking the necessary blood flow, Noctis' declaration did not ease it at all. “Noct, go away.”

 

“What?”

 

“Go away. Turn around... and go back to wherever you came from.”

 

He shifts from foot to foot. “What the hell do you think you're saying Prompto?” His voice is lower, darker. “What's wrong with you?”

 

Prompto closes his eyes, bites his lips again. He wants to see him, badly. Wants to see how time has changed his friend, wants a hug from him again. “Noctis, do as I say. Please.”

 

The last note was so sad, so broken that it clenched Noctis' heart painfully. Something was wrong with his friend, something horrible. “Prom,” he shouts. “I'm breaking in!”

 

“What?! No, Noct...!”

 

Before he could finish his sentence, he hears a pitiful crunch in the living room, most probably his front door. Then he hears the shout of “Prompto! Where are you?” and he cannot for the life of him believe that Noctis is right here, right in his house. He doesn't have the energy to call back out, now ashamed of what his friend might find. He feels hot tears streaming down his cheeks, the reason he doesn't comprehend why. He places his hands over his ears, wanting to block out everything, wishing the ground would swallow him whole.

 

“Prompto!” What he sees shocks him enough to make his stomach drop, to say in mild terms. His best friend whom he has not seen in six years sits in his own tub, clutching his hands tightly to his ears, red blood oozing out of his wrists. He can see how skinny he has become, each column of his spine visible, his ribs poking out of his skin. “Prompto! What the fuck happened here?” He kneels down on the wet floor, lightly grasping his arms, wanting him to stop.

 

“No! No! Get away form me Noct! Get away!” He is crying, watery blue eyes filled with so much sadness that it makes Noctis physically hurt to see him like this. “Prom, listen to me.” He holds his arms tighter, clamping his own hands over the wounds to slow the bleeding. “We need to get you to a hospital. You're losing blood,” he says in his calmest voice.

 

The blond shakes his head violently, and he sees that even his hair is caked with blood. “No! No hospitals! No hospitals!” He is shaking from head to toe and Noctis notes that the water is freezing, which explains why his skin is turning blue. He grasps him a little tighter. “Noct, don't! I... No hospitals!”

 

Reluctantly he loosens his grip as he sees more tears streaming down Prompto's face, sobs wracking through his whole body, shaking his frame. He sighs, lowers his head. When he speaks his voice is soft and he tries to make it sound soothing. “Fine. Fine, no hospitals Prom, I promise.” The other looks at him slightly, eyes still downcast. The hands on his ears are slowly released. “You.. you promise?...”

 

“Yeah, I promise.” Noctis slides his hands upwards so they meet the blond's, lifts them closer to kiss his knuckles. “But we've got to stop your bleeding first okay?” He meets those teary eyes full of fear and he wishes he could take all his pain away. Prompto didn't deserve this.

 

He nods, because this is Noctis, his best friend. He trusts him at least.

 

The raven looks relieved at the small consent, and immediately sets to patching him up. He digs out bandages from under the sink which look like they have been frequently and wraps them tenderly around the self-inflicted wounds. He drains the cold water, lets warm one fill up the tub to the brim, making sure the water wasn't too hot that it would burn. He then instructs Prompto to lift his arms carefully, washes the blood from his hair whilst making sure the bandages don't get wet. He washes his friend's back too, his torso and his legs. Prompto has his two arms wrapped around his neck as he discovers the scars on his thighs, frowns at them and wonder what had caused them. He drains the water again, grabs a towel from the rack and proceeds to dry the blond as carefully as possible, afraid he would break beneath his touch like fragile glass.

 

Prompto stays quiet the whole time, letting Noctis help him up from the tub. His legs are too weak to stand on their own, shaking terribly the whole time. The raven shoots him a small smile, then bodily lifts him up so that he is being cradled in the warmth of the other. His forehead is planted with a soft kiss as he is carried to his own bedroom. Noctis sets him carefully down onto the bed, goes through his drawers and finds some thick clothes for him to dress him. After witnessing the difficulty which Prompto tries to put on his clothes, he dresses him as well. He sits Prompto at the head of the bed with soft pillows, throws the duvet over him and goes rummaging in the kitchen after making sure he was okay. He comes back with a mug of warm tea and some biscuits, the only thing he could find in the cupboards.

 

“Your house is so empty of food.” he passingly mentions as he sits himself down on the bed beside the blond, handing the mug to him.

 

He gives a weak smile in return. “Ah... never actually felt like eating...” His voice was hoarse, raw from crying.

 

Noctis looks at his still trembling hands and cups them with his own. “Feeling better?” He scans the other as he asks, knowing that Prompto had a habit of saying that he was fine even when he wasn't.

 

“Yeah.” He nods. “A little.” He takes a sip of the tea, the soothing liquid going down to his stomach and warming his whole body. “Thank you... for doing all this.” He feels ashamed that Noctis had to see him and help him like this. What a joke he was.

 

A light yet playful nudge in his ribs. “What are friends for, huh?”

 

They both sit in silence, neither speaking, both afraid to say anything else. They were in a precarious situation, the balance of the scales tilting periodically. So they sat in the dim light of the room; Prompto sipping his tea while Noctis stared straight ahead.

 

After a while, the awkwardness had set in, palpable in the air. “Prom,” Noctis started softly. “You can tell me you know, what's wrong.” He ruffles the other's hair. “I won't judge you.” He feels the slight nod beneath his fingers.

 

“You were gone for six years Noct.” Prompto feels the tears coming again, but he bites his lip to stop them. “Six, and I never heard from you. Ever.” It hurt to say it because it was true. He grips the mug tighter in his hands, knuckles turning white. “I thought... I thought you abandoned me... I thought you didn't want me anymore...”

 

It hurt for him too, because it was true. He did leave his friend alone for so long. “Prom...” Gently, he lifts the mug away, places it on the nightstand and wraps his friend in a tight hug, still mindful of his injuries. “I'm sorry Prom, I'm so, so sorry...” He holds him tighter, an arm around his back and another supporting his head. “I'm so sorry...”

 

They didn't know who started it, but both cried as the embraced, years of longing and suffering, the pent up emotions spilling from the already full container. Noctis apologises again and explains that his father had him go overseas to a private university to study advanced classes, after all he would be the next CEO of an influential company. With a lot of coaxing, Prompto told Noctis about what had truly transpired during the six years they've been apart. All the threats, the bullying, the self-suffering. He explained the scars and what each of them meant, why he cut himself in the first place. Noctis holds him again, cooing sweet nothings and promises of revenge into his ear as his body shakes and he cries, letting the waterworks flow freely, clutching tightly onto his only lifeline.

 

“No... No one loves me... They all hate me Noct, they hate me..” Prompto hiccups a few times as he recites his sentence, the tears pouring uncontrollably.

 

Noctis shushes him, wipes the tears away with his thumbs and cradles him softly. “That's not true at all Prom. That's not true.” He kisses him on the cheek. “I love you, that's why I came back. And the people who treat you like shit, well I'll make sure they get what they deserve.” He kisses him again, this time a peck on his lips. “I love you, Prompto. I love you.”

 

They are both tired, worn from the outburst of emotions. Noctis lays Prompto down on the bed, lying close to him and stroking his hair, cheeks, arms. He watches as Prompto's breathing steadies itself, watches his eyes close peacefully. When he is sure that the blond is asleep, he kisses him tenderly on the lips. Whatever happens from here on out, he will be right next to Prompto. He won't let him suffer alone ever again.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 


End file.
